HELICOPTER PARENTS

HELICOPTER PARENTS
I just finished reading a very interesting and provocative article in the current TIME magazine (November 30, 2009). It was titled, “Can These Parents Be Saved?”. It was authored by Nancy Gibbs, and she did a very commendable job. I recommend that you read her article, even though it probably doesn’t describe your parenting.
Nancy labeled these over-protective Moms and Dads - “Helicopter Parents”! I flew in a helicopter, as a passenger, recently, and her term for over-protective guardians is most descriptive. They “hover” over their kids! How did our culture wander so far off track in three generations? Parents should be role models and teachers - not micro managers of the human spirit.
Were my Great Depression cohorts short changed by our parents when we were in school during the 1920’s and 30’s? I don’t think so. They taught us by their example. They told us that “this is how it is.” Then, they told us that we were responsible for our conduct, and we would be held accountable for any fall downs. We understood this, and we accepted our parents challenge. I felt good having such responsibility. I wouldn’t do anything to embarrass them.
Even though I was very young, I took my responsibility as a good citizen seriously. I went alone - from Hillsdale to Chicago - a four hour train ride - when I was six years old. Can you picture today’s parent letting their eight year old son go door to door, in the dark of winter afternoons, selling magazines, as I did? I delivered the Hillsdale Daily News when I was 10 years old. I attended Boy Scout meetings at night alone. My Mother didn’t accompany me on Halloween. My friends did.
I was caught chewing gum in my sixth grade class. Our teacher, Miss May, was the Central School principal. I knew better, but I broke the rule. Miss May called me up to the front of her desk. I did as I was bid. She told me to take the gum out of my mouth and place it on the tip of my nose, which I did. Then, she said turn around and stand there until I tell you to go to your seat. Talk about embarrassment! I couldn’t look into the smiling faces of my classmates. I don’t remember how long my torture went on, but it was plenty long for Miss May to make her point!(I very seldom chewed gum after that.) I didn’t go home, crying, and blaming the teacher for my punishment. I knew that if I did, my Dad would back the teacher, and give me a whack for good measure! Today, the child’s mother would go to the School board and claim “child cruelty” and demand that “the teacher be fired for embarrassing their little Raymond.” I held no grudge. Miss May was one on my favorite teachers. I even corresponded with her after moving to Berea (Ohio) at the end of that school year in 1930.
I walked to and from school - including going home for lunch. I walked to Church on Sunday and to Catechism class on Saturday afternoon. Vans, and parent chauffeurs, didn’t exist. My Mother didn’t know how to drive. It didn’t matter, because we didn’t have a car.
I went to St. Mary’s Catholic school in Berea for my seventh and eighth grades. Now there was discipline. Sister Edith was the principal and my teacher. I never got in trouble. Not, because I was a “goody goody”, but because I was a fast learner! I knew the rules and boundaries, and I heeded them. I figured that ‘Life” was much simpler that way. There were a couple of instances that I was a by-stander to unacceptable conduct. My friend “Hoy” was the class clown. Sister apparently, didn’t think that he was as funny as we did. I don’t even remember what happened. But, she called Hoy up to her desk, and said, “Get me the biggest measuring stick that you can find. Hoy came back with a 12 inch ruler. Sister didn’t think it was as funny as we did. She repeated her command. This time Hoy apparently got the message, and brought back the yardstick which was stored in the cloak room. Sister said “Give me your hand. Hoy extended his arm. She grabbed his hand and wound up with the same motion. Then, on her down swing, Hoy pulled his hand from Sister’s grasp, and she hit her leg with the yardstick. I’m sure she didn’t even feel it with her large -hanging rosary and full-flowing black outfit breaking the blow. To say that Sister Edith was upset, was a big understatement, as we all were taking in the “punishment”. Then she took a wild swing at Hoy.
On another occasion, I was in the Boy’s Bathroom in the school basement. I could smell cigarette smoke when I opened the door. There was Sam standing at the urinal next to me. When I first met Sam, I thought that he was an “Eskimo”, but later learned that Sam was a Native American boy (We used the term “Indian” back then.) I think he was 18 years old, and still in the eighth grade! I remember his whiskers. While we both were standing there, I heard the bathroom door open. Then, I heard Sister’s large rosary clanking as she walked toward us. She grabbed Sam by the arm - while he was still in mid-stream - and marched him out of the bathroom. No words were spoken. I have often searched my memory for what happened afterwards, but each time, I draw a blank. Still, Sister Edith was my mentor and role model. I give her a lot of credit for molding my personality and philosophy of life. She was a loyal friend. We still corresponded ten years later, during the months I served in North Africa. Her letters, and prayers, not only boosted my spirit, but I am sure played a big part in my surviving 50 combat missions.
Sister Edith taught a group of 7th and 8th grade students to be altar boys. (alter girls hadn’t been invented back then,) She not only taught us our Latin responses to the priest, but also all of our serving routine. They say that “if the student hasn’t learned, the teacher hasn’t taught”. Sister taught and I learned. I looked forward to being assigned to serve weddings, because the groom usually tipped us. But, funerals were another story. I guess it wasn’t proper to tip altar boys for funerals - even though our duties were about the same. Too sad, I guess.
I remember how I sweated out report card time. I would bring my card home from school and debate which parent to ask to sign it - depending on their mood. Today - if they still have “Report Cards”, the parents probably grade their kids and their kids may sign off.! Today, I can’t imagine parents who protest the grades on their kid’s homework and special projects. The term “homework” in PRE-SCHOOL today, didn’t exist in my day. Our Mothers taught pre-school.
Today, parents are obsessed about their child’s safety and success. When I was in the seventh and eighth grades, during the summer months, I would put a peanut butter sandwich in my pocket in the morning, and roam all over town with my friends. Granted, it was a small town - population about 5,000. We weren’t into vandalizing, but to entertain ourselves. We would also take our bats, balls and gloves and challenge kids on the other side of town to a pick-up game. Afterwards, we would go “skinny-dipping” in an abandoned- sandstone quarry - 300 feet deep with COLD water. It’s a wonder we didn’t cramp up and drown! Swimming was fun. But, sometimes when we got out, our clothes were missing. Our “friends” snuck up and hid them. The heli- folks would freak out if this happened today - with no life guard. It wasn’t a case of my parents not being fearful for my safety, it was a case of not knowing where I was, or what I was doing. Apparently, they trusted my judgment - even at that tender age. I know that they cared.
Today, parents use the computer, TV and electronic games to entertain (and baby sit) their kids. What happened to Erector Sets, Tinker Toys, Lincoln Logs and Lego toys?
I didn’t receive an allowance when I was growing up. If I wanted “spending” money, I was expected to earn it. Today’s parents must feel that if they don’t give their kids everything they want, they won’t love them. So be it. Let them work and earn their own money. They will appreciate the value of their spending more. Why contribute to a tobacco or drug habit? The world has enough problems!
I don’t want to leave the impression that I was self-raised. To the contrary. My sister Jeanne and brothers Bob and Jack got plenty of attention and TLC from our parents. They guided, and trained us, to be good citizens. They encouraged us to do our very best - that’s all they expected of us. “Over-achieving” wasn’t in their vocabulary. My parents never attended any of my high school sporting events, or my band concerts. I can’t remember whether they attended my high school graduation or not. But, they certainly were there for me during World war II. They came out from Ypsilanti to Victorville, when I graduated from Bombardiering School. They wrote to me often during the seven months that I was overseas.
During all of this dialogue, I don’t want to give the impression that I have been the perfect parent for my five daughters. For example:-
I always took my youngest daughter Sue with me when I got a haircut. The first thing that she would do in the barber shop was go to the magazine rack. She would pick up a copy of “Playboy”, sit on the floor, and start turning the pages. John (my barber) would go over and gently take it from her, and hand her a comic book in return. He hadn’t any more returned to his barbering chair, than Sue would put the Comic Book down and pick up the Playboy!
In closing this essay, I would like to quote from Nancy Gibb’s conclusion to her article - a quote that D.H. Lawrence made back in 1918 - the year of my birth! “How to educate a child. First Rule: leave him alone; Second Rule: leave him alone; Third Rule: Leave him alone; That is the whole beginning.” (Nancy goes on to say, “Of course, that was easy for him to say. He had no kids.”)
RCL - 11/28/09.